On his left was the wide bed of a river which flowed through the sand,
breaking here and there into several streams, and then reuniting, only
to scatter its volume a hundred yards further into three or four
channels. A bird of prey flew on strong wing over the water, dipped and
then rose again, but there was no other sign of life. Beyond, the
country southward rolled away, gray and bare, sterile and desolate.
The horseman looked most often into the south. His glances into the
north were few and brief, but his eyes dwelled long on the lonely land
that lay beyond the yellow current. His was an attractive face. He was
young, only a boy, but the brow was broad and high, and the eyes, grave
and steady, were those of one who thought much. He was clad completely
in buckskin, and his hat was wide of brim. A rifle held in one hand lay
across the pommel of his saddle and there were weapons in his belt. Two
light, but warm, blankets, folded closely, were tied behind him. The
tanned face and the lithe, strong figure showed a wonderful degree of
health and strength.
Several hours passed and the horseman rode on steadily though slowly.
His main direction was toward the west, and always he kept the river two
or three hundred yards on his left.
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